


Tissue Paper

by screenplayed



Series: Born and Made [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight Rises (2012), Gotham (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Bisexual Characters, Broken Families, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child Neglect, Crossover, F/M, Future Sexual Content, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Linear Narrative, The story were Jim and Alfred raise a Werewolf!John, Vampires, Were!puppies, discussion of killing a child, werewolf!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8277271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screenplayed/pseuds/screenplayed
Summary: Jim Gordon joined the GCPD Special Unit in order to help keep the human population unaware and safe from the monsters lurking in Gotham's shadows. But a Werewolf killing sets in motion things Jim doesn't know if he's brave enough to face.Namely, the newly orphaned Robin John Blake.Because where does the line fall when you have to protect the very thing you've set out to hunt?AKA: How Jim Gordon and Alfred Pennyworth end up raising a Werewolf John Blake.The Prequel to Grass Stains.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This funky crossover is the backstory for Grass Stains' Werewolf-verse. While it pulls from season 1 of Gotham, the story also diverts a lot. What was supposed to be quick snippets of angsty-fluff involving Were!puppies somehow grew ten times in size, and this monstrosity was born.
> 
> Chapter title from Born Free - Kid Rock

1

“What a mess,” Harvey grumbled, sticking his head through the door.

Jim stepped past him and ducked under the crime scene tape. The building was a simple brownstone, and the old lobby needed updating decades ago, if the peeling wallpaper and midnight blue carpet were anything to go by. The carpet at least served to hide any stains, Jim could barely see where the blood had soaked in. The walls…that was another story. Blood splatters dripped down the walls, off the ceiling, and _something_ —hopefully just clothe, but Jim knows they aren’t that lucky—hung from the light fixture. What was left of the vic lay slumped by the stairs, entrails strung across the floor.

Jim Barely had time to spin around before his dinner made its way back up. He was shocked by his own visceral reaction. After his time spent oversees he thought he’d become numb to the blood and violence. But bodies riddled with bullets or a blown off limb was one thing, what happened in that lobby was an entirely different animal. The violence there had been vicious, and the body…the body had been mostly eaten.

 Harvey slapped him on the back as he sauntered in. “Fucking Werewolves,” he said.

Jim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned around. “This? _This_ was done by Werewolves? But the Waynes—“

“The Waynes where an anomaly. And _I told you_ to leave the case alone. Now every Werewolf incident is going to get thrown our way.” Harvey grimaced and squinted at the light fixture. “See Hotshot, this is what you typically get with the furries—the bloodiest, foulest, and not to mention hardest to solve cases there are. And you!” Harvey poked him hard in the arm. “You had to be the golden boy and jump on the Wayne case!”

“Well excuse me for trying to do my job,” Jim growled.

“Oh fuck you and this fucking job,” Harvey muttered, snapping on a pair of gloves. “It’s the full moon tonight, Gordon, you better start getting used to this, ‘cause it’s going to become a normal part of your routine.” He dropped to a crouch by the body and started gingerly sifting through the shredded clothes.

Ed Nygma ducked into the building and looked around with a smile on his face. “Well well, this is a textbook example of a Werewolf killing. If they made textbooks for these sort of things, that is.”

“Don’t get so excited, Ed, you’re creeping me out again,” Harvey said. “And what’d you do to piss off the captain to get stuck with the furries?”

“Do? I volunteered for the Werewolf cases. Their culture and behaviors are just so fascinating,” Ed said, striding over to stare down at the DB. “Besides, I quite enjoy your and detective Gordon’s company.”

“Lucky us,” Harvey groaned.

“Lucky indeed,” Ed said, pushing his glasses pack up his nose. “With how much of the body has been eaten, there most likely won’t be any other attacks tonight.”

Jim wandered the perimeter of the room and studied the gouges in the walls. “This was done by one wolf? Don’t they typically run in packs?” he asked.

“One wolf, yes. Packs, yes and no. Werewolves are complicated creatures, and while they tend to show a lot of traits to their regular wolf counterparts, they’re also incredibly volatile and are rarely related. Doesn’t always make for good bedfellows,” Ed said. “And we don’t have enough of them in the city to do a proper study. It’s a shame.”

“Well looky here,” Harvey called out, pulling out a leather wallet. He flipped it open and smeared the blood off the plastic cover. “Say hello to John David Blake, poor bastard.”

“So does that make Robin Blake his wife or sister?” Ed asked.

Jim and Harvey both looked at him and asked, “who?”

“The woman they took to the hospital. She survived the attack…for now,” Ed said.

“Godammit! Why didn’t anyone say something to me?” Harvey asked, jumping to his feet. He tossed off his gloves and grabbed Jim’s arm, hauling him out the building. “What hospital?”

“Gotham General,” Ed said.

“Thank God for small miracles. Can you take care of things over here, Ed? Gordon and I gotta get down there before things get real ugly.”

***

“It was a difficult decision to make,” Dr. Lorecroft said. “We risked losing both of them. In the end we followed Mrs. Blake’s wishes and saved the baby. She died in operation.”

Jim didn’t think he’d ever seen Harvey look so pale. “Baby,” Harvey echoed.

“She was thirty-two weeks along, from what we can tell. We have the baby on life support at the moment. The delivery was stressful on him, but this far along he has a pretty good chance of survival.”

“You need to take it off life support,” Harvey said.

“Bullock!” Jim hissed.

Harvey turned to him with a grimace. “Listen to me, Gordon, if that baby’s been infected then we’ll have a logistical nightmare on our hands.”

“You’d kill a child because you don’t want to deal with the paperwork?” Jim said incredulously. He’d never kidded himself about Harvey being a good cop, but this? Jim didn’t think Bullock really had it in him to be so heartless.

“This isn’t about paperwork!” Harvey yelled, and the nurses walking the halls turned to stare at him. He pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair long hair. After a deep breath he continued at a normal volume. “If that baby is infected, it means we’ll have another Werewolf running around, you get that? You’re such a stickler for the rules, Jimbo, how about the one that says ‘shoot to kill’ for Weres?”

“This isn’t the same things. This isn’t…an attack, or a feral Supernatural, it’s a _child_ ,” Jim said. He turned to the doctor with a pleading look.

She sighed, and looked from Jim to the Harvey. “This isn’t a situation we’ve ever encountered before. There aren’t any protocols for Werewolves that are…born, or even children for that matter. We’ve sent down blood samples to the lab, but it’ll be a while until we know whether or not the infection took.”

“And if he is infected?” Jim asked. Lorecoft looked away. “What about your Hippocratic oath?”

“Like I said, we don’t have any protocol for this. For some supernatural there are times when ending their life is the kindest thing we can do. Werewolves most typically.”

“And who decides?” Jim said. Lorecroft opened her mouth and Jim quickly added, “In similar cases, don’t give me that ‘no protocol’ bullshit.”

“Unless ruled by the Supernatural Regulation Board, the family decides,” she said.

“The family,” Jim reiterated, and shot a pointed look at Harvey. “Not you.”

Harvey glared and crushed his hat back onto his head. “I need to call the captain.” He turned around and stalked down the hall.

“Listen, Detective, we’re doing the best we can under the circumstances. The SRB will come up with a solution that best handles the child, as well as the safety of the city,” Lorecroft said.

“I want to see him,” Jim said.

“Detective—“

“ _I want to see him_.”

***

As he stood there in a cover gown and surgical gloves, staring down at the plastic case and the boy inside, the only thing Jim could think was how _small_ he was. The diaper swallowed his tiny frame, and the breathing tube and IV lines strapped to him looked large enough to crush his body. How could something so fragile ever be dangerous?

“It would be better if we could put him in the NICU, but Supernaturals aren’t allowed to leave the K wing,” the nurse said with a heavy Gotham accent, flitting around the room and checking monitors. They were in a typically hospital room, but all the furniture had been pushed up against the wall to make way for the neonatal care equipment. “Wouldn’t want the general population accidentally getting a glimpse at our world.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “Your world? Are you a Super?” he asked.

“I’m a Water Nymph,” she said, giving him a wink. “Name’s Charlie.”

She was a tiny thing, barely over five feet, wearing hello kitty scrubs with her blond hair in twin braids. It was a charming and somewhat juvenile appearance, but underneath she still moved with a fluid sexuality and sway to her hips that were indicative if the Nymph race.

Jim gave her a little nod and turned back to the baby.

“You can touch him, he’s not gonna bite,” Charlie said. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Oh, no I—“

“It’s good for them. Usually the moms and pops hog all the cuddle time, but seeing as his are dead.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

Before Jim could respond she grabbed hold of his arm and shoved his hand through the opening of the bed. Not really sure what to do, he tentatively stroked down the tiny arm until he came to the boy’s hand. The baby’s little fingers flexed, and Jim gently pressed on each one until the baby wrapped his finger in a tight grip.

“He’s stronger than he looks,” Jim said, throat tight. “How big is…”

“He’s just over seventeen inches. He only weighs 4 pounds, one ounce. Tiny little thing,” Charlie said, peering down through the plastic with a fond smile. “He’s a tough one. I bet he’s going to be a handful when he’s bigger.” Jim chuckled. “Don’t worry though, you’ll be great with him.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in, and Jim quickly extracted himself from that tiny fist, pulling his hand to his chest as if the little boy could bewitch him. “No, you’ve got the wrong Idea, I’m not his parent,” Jim said quickly.

“I know that already. But you’re the one that’s going to take him home after this, aren’t cha?” She said, a hopeful looks on her face. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“No, I’m not,” he said.

“Then why’d you come down here?”

Jim sucked in a deep breath and took one last look at the baby before retreating to the door. “I’m not sure.”

2

Officially, the death of District Attorney William James Gordon was listed as a car accident caused by a drunk driver. An accident was the farthest thing from the truth.

Jim was twelve years of at the time.

His father was never a very affectionate man. Being district attorney kept Will busy, kept him in late at night and on the weekends, and he always seemed to be on the phone or surrounded by people that wanted to discuss current cases and legislation. Jim never quite understood why his father was so aloof, wondering around absent minded on the rare occasions he was home before Jim went to bed. He never understood why his father checked the locks on every door and window in the house three times before he could go to bed.

When his father decided to take him on an outing, just the two of them driving out to Martha’s Vineyard for an extended weekend, Jim nearly couldn’t contain is excitement. They left late in the evening, Jim sleeping in the backseat for the long drive.

The car screeched to a stop and Jim was thrown forward, banging his head on the back of the driver’s seat. Disoriented, Jim wrapped his arms around the back of the seat and hauled himself up, staring blearily over Will’s shoulder out the darkened windows. They were on one of the backroads that cut through the forest, thick trees on either side of them, and the only light coming from the headlamps.

“Dad?” Jim murmured.

“James, get down on the floor,” Will said.

Jim blinked a few times, and that’s when he saw it—the shine of red eyes glinting off the light. He looked out the side windows and thought he caught streaks of red through the trees. Dozens of sets of eyes.

“On the floor, Son, and don’t make a sound. Whatever happens, stay down.” Will’s voice shook, but his expression was calm as he undid his seatbelt and stepped out of the car.

Jim wanted to beg him to come back, but something stilled his words, drove him to follow his father’s orders and curl up into the footwell. He strained to hear his father over his own quick breaths.

“If you wanted to meet with me you could’ve just scheduled an appointment,” Will called into the night, in his firm, confident tone he used during press releases.

There was a hiss, leaves and underbrush rustling, a scrape of something against the back of the car.

“Surely this isn’t how you want to do this,” he continued. “I’ve always found your kind to be quite reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” A low, gravelly voice said. It seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. “You just signed the death certificate for my race. Where was reason when you and the other members of _the Board_ deliberated the lives of my people?”

“It’s not as if anyone’s being killed, there are just new regulations in place for the betterment of both our people. Your race had representation, this wasn’t done—“

“Representation?!” The voice yelled, rattling down into Jim’s bones. The wind picked up and a howling started, and the car rocked with a squeal of hinges. “The Castillo family lives in the pocket of the mayor, and you think they’re a fair representation?”

“Your statements, as well of all of those from the other families were reviewed—“

“You can’t truly believe you could keep up with the eradication of the Supernatural kind without push back. If it wasn’t us, it would have been one of the other races. Do you have any parting words, _District Attorney_?”

“Don’t do this, Vincent,” Will said, all the calm gone, a desperate pleading left in its place. “I’m on your side, I always have been! There were concessions that had to be made to appease the other members, but we _are_ making progress. But if you…if you kill me now you’ll learn just how bad things can be for your kind.”

“I think I’m willing to see what kind of progress we can make without you.”

The car starting started shaking, and it sounded as if hundreds of hands were beating against the outside like a drumming war song. Jim muffled his cries and curled tucked himself as far as he could under the seat. Over the rattle he could hear his father screaming.

The rear door squealed and ripped off its hinges, and Jim stared up wide eyed at a skinhead with corpse pale skin and glowing red eyes. He kicked out as the man grabbed his leg, but he may as well have kicked a brick wall for all the good it did. Jim screamed and twisted as the man ripped him out of the car and dragged him across the pavement.

“Look what we found,” the man said.

“No!” Will yelled.

Jim looked up and found himself surrounded by an endless crowd of glowing red eyes. His father screamed, clothes torn and blood dripping down his face, trying to break free from the hold of two large men.

“Don’t touch him!”

Polished black dress shoes block Jim’s vision, and he tilts his head up to look into the stern face of an old man, a sharp smile on his face.

“Should I show you what feels like, William, to have your bloodline cut short?” the old man called over his shoulder.

Jim was suddenly hauled into the air, an arm wrapped around his neck as the tips of his toes scrapped the ground. He choked, dug his fingers into his arm around him and tried to suck in air. The old man stepped to the side, and Jim stared across the road into his father’s horrified face. Fingers gripped Jim’s hair and yanked his head back, and he caught the silver gleam of metal out of the corner of his eye. The old man stepped back into his view and held up a long blade.

Heart hammering, Jim realized finally that he was about to die. He struggled harder, scratched and kicked and choked out a scream for his father. Will struggled, too, his shoes sliding over the blacktop and he jerked in the men’s arms.

“Vincent, don’t do this!” Will screamed. “Anything! I’ll do anything!”

The blade came up in front of Jim’s face and he froze. The old man, Vincent, held up his arm and rolled back his sleeve. He drew the blade across his wrist, deep, and held it over Jim’s face as blood spilled out. The hand in his hair tightened, and Jim squeezed his eyes shut as hot liquid splattered across his face.

“Wait!” A nasally voice called out.

Jim cracked an eye open to see a small man shuffled forward, huddling into himself as he kept his eyes on the ground.

“You dare speak against me, Oswald?” Vincent turned towards him and bared his teeth, which looked longer and sharper than they had earlier.

“N-no, sir,” Oswald stammered. “But…but would it not be better to show the district attorney that we are a race with morals? We do not change people without consent or reason.” His voice got smaller as he spoke, and by the end his words were barely a whisper. “My mother told me we are not monsters. Show him we are better than the humans that lord over us.”

Silence fell around them, and the small man shrank farther into himself with each second. Finally, Vincent looked back at Jim. Jim flinched as a hand jerked his chin up. Vincent swiped a finger across his cheek in a mock show of affection, smearing blood over his skin.

“The newest member of our family has a point. We are the better men, so to speak,” Vincent said. He bent down until he was staring Jim eye to eye. “I want you to remember this, son, that we were merciful despite the atrocities that your kind has wrought upon us.”

His fingers slipped away as he walked back to Jim’s father. Will had stopped fighting his captors, and he raised his head as Vincent wrapped a hand around the back of his neck.

“I want to hear you say it,” Vincent said.

“You are the better man,” Will said quietly. He met Jim’s gaze over Vincent’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Goodbye, William,” Vincent said. He bared his teeth, long and sharp, and sank them into Will’s throat.

Three hours passed before anyone stumbled upon Jim on that darkened road, curled up with the dried husk of his father’s body. It took five days before Jim spoke a word of what happened, and it took twenty years for him to return to Gotham on his own accord.

Through it all Jim did what Vincent Falcone had asked of him—he remembered.

He always remembered.

3

“So for the dearly departed Robin Catherine Blake, I’ve got a mother, deceased, and no known father. No siblings, one uncle who hasn’t been heard of in twenty years, and no other living relatives.” Harvey dropped his file in his desk and stared across at Jim. “Any luck with John?”

Jim sighed. “No. Both parents deceased, and one sister who was killed in a drive-by shooting three years ago.”

“So one more orphan of Gotham, Lovely.” Harvey scratched his beard and took Jim’s file from him. “I’ll run this up to the captain and let him deal with it. The…baby’s case will probably go to SuReg child services now.”

“It’ll be another two weeks before his bloodwork comes back. He could still be human, you know,” Jim said.

“When have we ever been that lucky?”

***

Charlie grinned up at Jim as he stepped into the room. He’d washed his hands and left his coat on a chair outside, but otherwise they told him to forgo the cover and gloves.

“Was wondering when you’d be back,” she said. This time her scrubs were an obnoxiously bright tie-dye affair, and her blond pony was streaked with pink.

“I’m over the investigation if his parents’ killer, it’s only normal that I check in,” Jim said. “How’s he doing?”

“Much better. Blake’s already put on weight. His breathing and heart rate are still a little erratic, but I think he’s just stressed,” Charlie said. Her face lite up suddenly and she turns hopeful eyes on Jim. “Hey, would you mind helping me out while you’re here? I talked to some of the people up at the NICU and they gave me some tips.”

“I don’t know what kind of help I can be. I don’t know anything about kids,” Jim said, but Charlie waved off his answer and wrangled him over to a chair by the baby’s case.

“S’not complicated stuff, Detective, he just needs to be held. I’d do it myself, but I’ve got other patients to tend to.”

“Held…is that wise? Should he be out of his bed at all?” He sounded a little desperate, but the notion of handling that little infant that looked like it could break from him staring at it too long was frightening.

“Kangaroo care is widely practiced,” Charlie said. She opened the bed and started arranging the baby’s tubes and wires. “Now take off your shirt.”

Jim blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. And don’t worry, I have a blanket so you won’t get cold.”

“Um, listen Charlie, you seem like a sweet girl, but this really isn’t appropriate.”

Charlie’s hands stalled, and she stepped back from the bed and put her hands on her hips. The freely given affability was gone, in its place something worn and angry showed on her face. “Detective, if you’re suggesting I’m the kinda person to jump your bones at work, at a hospital, next to my _patient_ —“ She sucked in a deep breath through her nose. “Honestly I thought you were different. I guess you think all us Nymphs are sex crazed, don’t cha?”

Jim opened his mouth and left it hanging while words failed him. That actually _had_ been what he was thinking, as much as he wanted to deny it. He snapped his mouth shut and rubbed at his face, which he felt turning bright red.

“S’alright, Detective, I’m used to it,” Charlie said.

“You shouldn’t be,” Jim croaked. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I can be a real asshole sometimes.”

“Apology accepted. So you still gonna help me out with Blake?” she asked, and some of the warmth was back in her voice.

Jim nodded and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Can I ask what exactly I’m doing though?”

“Undershirt, too,” Charlie said while she gently lifted the baby out from the bed.

Jim stripped that off as well and set both neatly on the floor. Before he could say anything Charlie was setting the baby on his chest, rearranging Jim’s hands until he was held securely.

“Wait! What am I—“ Jim started as Charlie tucked a blanket around him and the baby.

She laughed and moved the wires out of the way, draping them over Jim’s arm. “Kangaroo care, Detective. Skin on skin contact’s good for the little guy, It’s supposed to help with stress. If you want you can talk to him, too.” She clapped him on the shoulder and headed for the door. “I gotta check on my other patients, just holler if you need something.”

With that she was gone, and Jim stared down in horror at the little infant curled against his chest. Quick, little heartbeats, and quick, little breaths, and his skin felt as frail as tissue paper against Jim’s hands. Hands that have been used to shoot, maim, kill and kill again—they’re not supposed to support something struggling to hold onto life.

He wanted to call Charlie back, tell her this was a bad idea, when the baby made a small snuffling noise and snuggled down against his chest, his tiny fist curling against his skin. Jim let out his breath, not realizing he’d been holding it the whole time.

“Hey,” Jim said quietly. “Hey Blake. Don’t be so stressed out, that’s my job.”’

***

He lay awake that night, staring out the clock-face window of Barbara’s apartment. The weight of her arm across his stomach should’ve been comforting, but all he could feel was the ghost of that four pounds, one ounce on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

“You’re thinking too loud, James,” Barbara whispered, skimming her fingers across his ribs.

He chuckled softly and kissed her hair. “I’ll try to keep it down.”

“You could talk to me, you know,” she said. “I have it on good authority that I am both intelligent and perceptive.”

“And who told you that?”

“Oh, just some cop I used to date, you wouldn’t know him.” She shuffled up so her head was lying next to his on the pillow. She gave him a coy little smile, her eyes open, caring, and so unafraid.

But she should’ve be afraid. She should’ve, but Jim didn’t want to be the one to put that fear there, to take away the sense of safety—lie that it was—that he was trying so hard to make real.

“Just work stuff,” he told her.

“I’ll still listen.”

“I can’t,” he croaked, and couldn’t stop the pain from leaching into his words.

A frown furrowed the place between her brows. “You used to,” she said softly. “Before we came to Gotham. Sometimes I think…was it a mistake, me asking you to come here with me?”

“Barbara, I wanted to come,” Jim said, turning his head to stare at the ceiling. Because Jim realized no matter how far he ran his demons would still be there, a few steps behind. Facing them head on was the only way to manage them—not get rid of them, because that wasn’t possible, but at least he would know where they would strike from.

“I wish you wouldn’t shut me out,” Barbara said.                            

There was nothing more he wanted than to tell her all his fears, about failing, about being too late, about all the Blakes and Bruce Waynes out there he wouldn’t be able save from the monsters of the world, about the horrible things he might been willing to do to keep that from happening. He wanted to curl up in her arms and be held for once.

But he couldn’t, so instead he gave her what parts of him he could. “Do you ever think about having kids?” he asked.

Barbara blinked, taken by surprise. “Is that what this is about? I know we talked about it in the past and I said I wasn’t ready, but…that doesn’t necessarily mean forever.” She put a hand on his cheek and turned his face towards her. “I’m still not ready, and I don’t think you are either. But maybe in the future when things settle down…” she trailed off, not wanting to promise something she might not be able to give.

“That’s the thing, I don’t think things will ever settle down,” Jim said, closing his eyes. “And I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

“Then what is this about?”

He threw his arm across his eyes and sank into the darkness. “I just…I need to know if I’m capable of more than just destroying things.”

“Oh, James.” Barbara kissed his cheek, and whispering his name over and over.

4

Jim had secrets. He’d had them since he was twelve years old, when the Special Unit of the GCPD sat him down and coached him on what to say about his father’s murder. It was almost like some secret initiation onto his friend’s treehouse, except there were no handshakes and passwords, just swearing oaths and signing confidentiality agreements.

He lied to his mother first. He lied to the press second. And on and on it went, lying to family, friends, lovers, until there wasn’t a soul that knew all the truths about who James Gordon was.

Jim knew the truth though, and he saw it out of every window and lurking in every shadow. The monsters under his bed were real, and not even his father could’ve chased them away. Signs of them became easier to see once you knew what to look for, and even easier was spotting the humans that were in the knowhow—they always looked slightly haunted, casting glances over their shoulders, paranoia with a level head.

Watching that paradigm shift happen in someone was horrendous, so Jim lied to Bruce Wayne, lied that there would be light after the darkness, even as they stared at the blood stained sheets hiding his parents’ bodies. Jim knew there was no light, at least not for him, but maybe he could make it a reality for this boy.

He was startled out of his heavy thoughts when Bruce Wayne shrugged off Jim’s coat and ran across the alley, everyone completely forgotten, and was pulled into the arms of a stern looking man wearing a three-piece suit. The grey hair and lines around his eyes made him look older than he was, the suite too regal, but when the man stood and met Jim’s eyes all his assumptions went out the window. There was a tightly controlled brutality buttoned up in those impeccable clothes, and his eyes held the secrets Jim knew were reflected in his own. Were now reflected in the boy’s as well.

Jim felt like he was almost under a glamour as he made his way over, staring at the older man. “James Gordon,” he finally said.

“Alfred Pennyworth,” the man replied, an out of place Cockney accent clipping his rough voice.

“We’re going to get the thing that did this, sir,” Jim said.

Alfred hesitated for a split second as he rubbed the young boy’s back, and Jim knew he didn’t believe a word of it. “New boy, are ya?” he asked.

“You could say.”

He gave a curt nod. “Good luck, mate.” And with a final pitying glance he turned and led Bruce away.

***

Jim got into the precinct early in the morning and was called directly into Captain Essen’s office. Harvey was already there, flopped down like a puppet with its stings cut in one of the chairs. Essen glanced up as he entered the room and motioned for him to close the door.

“I take it it’s too much to hope for good news?” Jim said.

Essen let out a heavy breath and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“Just tell ‘em,” Harvey muttered.

“We got the DNA samples back from the Blake killings,” Essen said. The look she leveled at him made him choke on his own breath. “They match the ones from the Wayne case.”

Slowly, Jim sank into one of the chairs. He stared at the captain, but wasn’t able to form any words.

“See, it wasn’t just me,” Harvey said. “If it renders the boy scout here speechless you know it’s bad.”

“Mario Pepper,” Jim croaked. Essen ran her hand down her face. “Mario Pepper is _dead_ because we went after him for the Waynes’ murder!”

“There’s a possibility he was still involved,” Essen said.

“Bullshit! The whole case against him was held together with the theory that there was no Werewolf. We said it was glamour! Do you know what kind of retributions the Fae community is going to demand when this gets released?” Jim said, not caring that his voice was raising.

“Cool it Jimbo,” Harvey said.

“Oh fuck you, Bullock!” Jim yelled. “Mario Pepper had a thirteen-year-old daughter, and now we’re going to have to explain to her why her father is dead!”

“Her father is dead because he _attacked you!_ Or maybe you forgot the part where he tried to spear you through with a fuckin’ tree branch?” Harvey shouted.

“Stop it, both of you,” Essen said firmly. “You’re right Gordon, this is a mess all around, which is why I need both of you to keep your heads and work this case. The official word going out to the press is that we’ve come upon evidence to suggest a second person involved in the murders. Unofficially? I want you two running down every Supernatural contact we have.”

Jim and Harvey got to their feet, but before they could open the door Essen stopped them. “Oh, and boys? Gotham General called, that baby’s DNA tests are going to be ready this afternoon.”

***

Dr. Lorecroft heaved a put upon sigh as they walked into K wing. “You do understand the meaning of the word ‘afternoon’, don’t you?” she asked.

“Save it, sister, we’re in a rush today,” Harvey said.

She raised her eyebrows, but otherwise ignored his comment. “Well, detective Gordon, I was going to ask for your assistance today anyway.”

“What for?” Jim asked, already too tired to deal with more.

“We need to get some of the baby’s paperwork filed, and we have to put down an official name,” she said. “Since you seem to have taken an interest in him, I was wondering if you’d do the honors?”

“You’ve been hanging around here, Jim?” Harvey asked. “Are you going to perform the christening, too?”

“I’ve checked up on him a few times.” Jim turned to Lorecroft. “Shouldn’t that be left up to, I dunno, the people who are going to adopt him?”

“Seeing that I need to file this paperwork now? No. If you don’t want to do it we’ll just choose something.”

“Good idea,” Harvey said.

Jim was about to tell her to go ahead, but somehow he ended up blurting out, “John.” They both looked at him. “After his father. And Robin, his mother. John Robin Blake.”

Harvey groaned and pulled his hat down over his face. The doctor nodded in satisfaction.

“Harvey, stay and fill out the paperwork.  Dr. Lorecroft, could you see if those tests are ready? I’m going to go check in the baby,” Jim said, and started off down the hall so he wouldn’t have to hear any bitching. As much as he’d deny it to Harvey, seeing Blake calmed his nerves—it helped him remember why he was doing this job in the first place.

When Jim stepped up to Blake’s room he froze when he saw Charlie inside, sobbing into the shoulder of another nurse. The pit of his stomach dropped to the floor.

“What happened?” he asked, and turned to look at the bed. He couldn’t get his feet to move forward—couldn’t stand to see what had happened to the little boy he failed to protect.

Charlie raised her head and looked at him, anguish twisting her face. “They’ll lock him up,” Charlie cried. “They’ll lock him up, or they’ll kill him. You can’t let them, Detective! He’s a good boy—he’s such a good boy.”

Charlie’s sobs, the monitors, the people in the hallway all fell away. Jim’s ears filled with a strange ringing as his sight narrowed in on that plastic bed. Slowly, he stepped towards it like a man possessed.

Blake was gone.

In the bed, tangled in a mess of tubes, wires, and blankets, was a wolf pup.


End file.
